voice. âHeâs doing no harm.â
Almost immediately, one of the soldiers stepped forward, his sword sliding free of its scabbard with a ringing hiss. He leveled the point at the speakerâs throat.
âDâyou want to argue with the Ranger, you scum?â he demanded.
The man, an unarmed farmworker, shrank back, dropping his eyes. âNo, sir. Not me,â he said, fear all too evident in his voice.
âThen hold your tongue or Iâll cut it out for you!â the soldier threatened.
The singer placed his gitarra carefully on the table behind him, out of possible harmâs way. He was wearing a double scabbard at his belt, and the hilts of a saxe knife and a throwing knife were visible. However, he made no attempt to reach for either of them. The pompous, overblown fool in the green cape didnât concern him. But the four soldiers were armed and ready for trouble. In fact, he sensed, they would welcome it, and he didnât want to give them any excuse to start what would be a very one-sided fight. If that happened, some of the villagers might try to take a hand on his side and they might be hurt. He didnât want that on his conscience.
âThereâs no need to threaten Isaac,â he said calmly. The soldier glared at him and he returned the angry look steadily, until the man-at-arms muttered a low curse and re-sheathed his sword. Only then did the former Ranger of Weslon address hisreplacement.
âIâm doing no harm here, Willet,â he said in a reasonable tone. âIâm just trying to earn a few coins to pay for my dinner. Surely I can do that?â
âSurely you canât!â the man named Willet replied. âYouâve been dismissed from the Ranger Corps. And youâve been singing insulting songs about the King! We donât want your kind here in Weslon Fief!â
Berrigan shrugged. âI was under the impression that the people here were enjoying my music. And I certainly donât recall singing any disloyal song about the King.â
âYou sang about how the King has constant trouble with wind!â Willet shrilled and Berrigan couldnât help smiling.
âI assume youâre referring to âGood King Artur, the Terrible Farterâ?â
The new Ranger nodded several times. âExactly! Itâs insulting and disloyal. It could even be construed to be treasonous!â
Berrigan shrugged. âBut as the title says, the Kingâs name is Artur. Heâs not our King. Itâs just a silly doggerel song.â
âThatâs where youâre so clever! You pretend itâs about another king. But I know youâre referring to our King, and encouraging people to laugh at him!â
The former Ranger shook his head. âNot so. Iâve been singing that song for years.â
âSo,â Willet crowed triumphantly, âyou admit to the crime! And you admit to having committed it repeatedly!â
Berrigan sighed. He looked sadly at his replacement. âWillet, do you sit awake at night thinking up stupid things to say? Or does it just come naturally to youâon the spur of the moment?â
A couple of the watching villagers laughed. The men-at-arms swung round angrily, trying to see who was responsible. But the villagers had quickly composed their features. Willet glared at Berrigan for a few moments, his mouth working silently. The former Ranger watched him carefully. He sensed he may have pushed the ridiculous little man too far. Finally, Willet got control of himself. He thrust out his right arm, the forefinger pointing at the gitarra lying on the table.
âConfiscate that instrument, Corporal!â he snapped. âSmash it!â
As the leader of the small squad started toward the table, Berrigan stepped to block his way. And now his hand dropped to the hilt of the saxe at his waist.
âI donât think so,â he said. His voice was low but there was an
C. J. Cherryh
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